La Bohème
by Kyasarina
Summary: La Boheme by Puccini, set to Hetalia. Pairings - France/England, Spain/Romano. Complete. Act IV, The End. Everyone returns to the attic where everything started.
1. Act I

**This fic is based on 'La Boheme' by Puccini (which was, in turn, based on 'Scènes de la vie de Bohème' by Henri Muger)**

**Rodolfo - Francis (France)  
**

**Mim****ì - Arthur (England)  
**

**Marcello - Antonio (Spain)  
**

**Colline/Schaunard - Gilbert (Prussia)  
**

**Benoît - Marcus (Rome)**

Snow fell softly to the ground, collecting in an ever-growing expanse of white, which was trodden on by the people scurrying to and fro, packing it - condensing it - into bleak, slippery ice. The sun had nearly set, casting a shadow of darkness across the city. A beautiful, yet commonplace sight for the citizens of the besieged city - attacked by Winter itself, heat becoming a distant memory, a privilege reserved for the wealthy.

A young blond man, of maybe twenty-six, gazed out the window of a slightly cramped, and definitely cold attic, musing to himself as he watched the beautiful sunset that was peppered with tiny dots of white. He touched the window pane lightly, the cold seeping immediately into his skin, and to his bones.

"I'm so cold!" came a voice from behind him. "I can't take it anymore!"

The young man turned to face yet another young man. They looked to be about the same age, but that was all that they seemingly shared in common. One was blond-haired, blue-eyed, and, although he had yet to speak, spoke with a native French accent peppered with original French phrases, the other had brown hair, green eyes, and was Spanish in origin.

The Spaniard threw his paintbrush to the floor in agitation, abandoning his work to grab at a pile of paper residing next to the Frenchman, crumpling some sheets as he did so.

"What are you doing, Antonio?!" demanded the Frenchman, though not with as much gusto as he would normally have inserted into his voice at such at such an outrage as this. His drama! The manuscript! But it was so cold… he did not have the energy to shout.

"Francis! Let's burn this to keep warm!" Antonio suggested forcefully. "An excellent suggestion!" replied Francis immediately, abandoning his work to its fiery demise. Better a burnt piece of work than two frozen bohemians, he reasoned.

"Ah, the warmth…" sighed Francis, and he was happy, so happy, until the door flew open, with it coming the wintry chill and a white-haired, red-eyed man and a fluffy yellow bird.

"You won't believe this!" The albino said, indignantly. "What won't we believe?" asked Antonio, simplistically.

The albino drew in a deep breath. "They closed down the pawnshop for Christmas! I was trying to pawn some books and it was closed! But-" he said, his voice becoming less unnaturally high, "-there is a plus side to my life, it seems."

Francis looked up. "Really?"

"You won't believe this either - this Hungarian woman answered my advert for a guitar teacher! I met her, and she's _good_ - if you know what I mean."

"She has a boyfriend, doesn't she though, Gilbert?" Antonio reasoned with him, knowing instinctively that she must have. Gilbert shrugged, smug grin still firmly in place. "Why have one when I can have both? The guy's pretty hot too, in a stuck-up aristocrat-y kinda way."

"A musician? Won't he figure out that you can only play three chords?"

"He's a pianist, apparently. _And_ - I was pre-paid. _Ja_. I know." He brandished the money, grinning. Antonio and Francis crept towards the precious slips of paper, eyes gleaming.

"Say… who wants to go out with this?" Gilbert asked, grinned enthusiastically. "_Sí, sí, sí_!" He made for the door quickly, but then there was a loud knock.

-

"Open up! It's Marcus!"All three men paled. "We're not in!" one said, barring the door with a chair - as Marcus walked in through the another door.

"Your rent has been due for months. Where is it?" he demanded, getting quickly to the point. Francis threw an arm around him.

"Ah, Marcus. Do you want a drink? Here. Fine, is it not?" Marcus yielded to the drink - and then had a few more. Gilbert's face was sullen as he watched his precious beer go down another's throat.

Soon enough, the man was intoxicated, and told them all about his latest escapades with younger men and women. "Ah… see, there's life in this old man yet!" he said, drunkenly slurring. "But I don't like the ugly ones you see…" They waited patiently for the killing words. "Like my wife."

Now for it!

"Married! You're married! How dare you do such things!" yelled Gilbert in feigned outrage - he was really only angry about the waste of beer. The men angrily threw out the babbling drunk.

"Now, let's go!" said Antonio.

"I'll just finish this article then," said Francis, "I do need to have my own money, you know. You two go on downstairs. I'll only be five minutes."

Gilbert scowled at him. "It had better be only five minutes." He and Antonio left, slamming the door behind them. Their raucous laughter followed them, until everything was quiet again. Francis looked down at the paper in front of him, letters dancing about on the page.

-

All of a sudden, there was a quiet knock on the door. It was obviously not Antonio, Gilbert or the drunk. Francis stretched and sighed. He walked over the door and pulled it open lazily. "_Oui, c'est Francis, bon-_JOUR!" he muttered in French, and then towards the end, got a good look at his visitor, causing him to yelp.

"Ah, hello there…" said the stranger, who spoke with a pronounced English accent, "I'm your neighbour… my candle was blown out… by any chance, could you relight it for me?"

"_Oui_, _oui_, no problem…" said Francis, shocked at this sight. The man was quite short, and aside from the unfortunate eyebrows, was quite good-looking. Very good-looking in fact, come to look at him closely enough. "Of course I will relight your candle. Ah, if you could…"

The man handed him the candle stump. It was evidently well-used, the wick black, and the wax melted into twisting patterns around what was left. Francis reached across a messy desk to retrieve a burning candle, and held the flame to the wick until it lit.

"Thank you," said the stranger, and he took it from Francis - and it spluttered and died. They tried again, and again, but there was no point. It would not burn. "Well, thanks anyway, and goodnight, I suppose," he said, and with that, he turned and walked through the door out of Francis' life.

But then, for better or worse, fate intervened. The man staggered and a harsh cough broke out from him. There was a clatter as the man leaned against the wall for a moment. "Are you alright?" Francis asked, concerned.

"My key! I dropped the bloody thing!"

A flash of silver caught Francis' eye. "Ah, let me help you search for it!" he said, swooping down on the key, and putting it in his pocket quickly.

The stranger got down on his hands and knees, scanning the floor with his forest green eyes intently. Francis stared at him for a while, then mimicked his actions, secretly snuffing out his candle as he did so, so they were plunged in near absolute darkness. The man turned to scan to his right, undeterred, and as he did so, Francis' left hand "accidentally" placed itself on the man's right. Said man blushed.

"Your hand is so cold! You know, we will not find your key in this darkness, but luckily, it's a lovely moonlit night, _non_?"

-

The man tried to extract his hand, but Francis grasped at it, harder. "Wait! I will tell you about myself! Who am I? I am a poet - when it comes to dreams, and castles in the air, I'm a millionaire!"

He gripped tighter, gazing down. "But, alas, my fortunes have been stolen by two thieves - your eyes. But, I am not angry about my loss! For their place has been taken by hope! Now that you know all about me, speak! Tell me who you are."

"…my name is Arthur, but they call me Iggy…" the newly-named Arthur said, a blush slowly, but surely, spreading across his features.

"There's not really much to say. I embroider. I make lilies and roses. I live alone. There is a little white room, where I can see the city - when the thaw comes, I will be the first to see the kiss of April."

"You have the words of a poet," flattered Francis.

"My flowers are my poetry, I suppose…" Arthur looked away as a shaft of moonlight hit his face, making his eyes glow softly.

"_Mon cher_… I must-"

"Oi, Francis!" a harsh shout broke the atmosphere. "Hurry up in there! How can you be alone when there is _money _to spend!" Gilbert's voice yelled through the door.

"…I am not alone." said Francis, impish smile dancing across his mouth. Wolf-whistles drifted through the door. "Five minutes of your time, _mes amis_. That is all I ask." They were silent, and after a pause, they traipsed away.

-

"Your friends are waiting, and I must go now." Arthur said, standing up. "Oh lovely Arthur, oh sweet face - bathed in the soft moonlight - I see you in a dream - Oh, I'd dream forever!" Francis said, stealing lines from a poem he'd studied long ago, in earnest. Arthur definitely blushed that time. Swiftly, Francis leaned in to kiss the moonlit Englishman.

"N-n- no, please! Y-your friends are waiting… _and we've only just met_." he whispered at the end, his words not reaching anyone's ears.

"You send me away already?"

"I dare not say what I'd like." muttered Arthur, under his breath. "Tell me," Francis murmured, stroking Arthur's face.

"If I came with you…" Arthur gently slapped away the caressing fingers. "Arthur, it's cold outside - why not stay here?"

"I'll stay close to you then." Arthur's tone was laden with stubbornness. Francis laughed gently. "But when we come back? What then?"

"Who knows?" Arthur teased him.

"Give me your arm, _mon amour_." said Francis

"Gladly." responded Arthur, linking his arm with Francis' as they marched out of the darkness of the attic, into the yet colder night. And so they met, that wintry, dark night, and they were so taken with each other, one might call it "Love At First Sight-" or more likely, just plain attraction.

Either way, the Wheel of Fate turned, creaking its cruelness and kindness alike, turned by Winter's unforgiving hand.

-

**Please Review :)**


	2. Act II

**Rodolfo - Francis (France)**

**Mimì - Arthur (England)**

**Marcello - Antonio (Spain)**

**Colline/Schaunard - Gilbert (Prussia)**

**Musetta - Lovino (Romano)**

**Alcindoro - Sadiq (Turkey)Parpignol - Feliciano (Italy) Although he plays a much bigger part in this than he actually does in the opera…**

**-  
**

"Who would this be?" asked Antonio, curious to know who the stranger was. Francis pushed Arthur forward in answer. "_C'est mon amour, _Arthur. Arthur, these are _mes amis_, Gilbert and Antonio."

"Nice to meet you," Arthur said, friendliness peppering his voice.

"Good to meet you, now let's go!" Gilbert said, desperate to foolishly spend his wages. He set off at a quick pace, leaving the others to straggle behind him. Antonio looked wistfully at the joined hands of the two "lovers" then looked away.

-

If one said that the street was lively, they would have been making a grievous understatement. Colour flashed, concealing the white snowy ground and the icicles and bareness. Skirts flicked up as rowdy dancers romped about, laughing as men wearing dirty caps and ragged clothing that did not keep out the cold tried to grab at them.

A man with shoulder length, unkempt brown hair managed to snatch a blond male - or female, quite honestly, it was hard to tell - dancer, who happily went along with him. An Asian brass band marched through the streets, pushing past the revellers who tried to frighten away the bleak winter, the conductor leading the way, yelling phrases in Chinese all ending with a peculiar "aru".

"Stay in tune, aru! Honestly, aru!"

"Beer!" Gilbert shouted joyously, and then he ran over to the stall that served the brew. The others followed him, greatly aware of the fact that he held the money. Antonio pushed past a couple of people, both blond and quite tall. They looked quite similar, and from their conversation - no, he was not an eavesdropper - he gathered that they were siblings. One had a small scar on his forehead, and was admiring bouquets of tulips on sale.

"Man, they know where to get their tulips from," he was saying. "These are definitely from the Netherlands. Way better than the ones from Turkey."

"For the last time, I don't care," said the woman. The man grinned at her. "If you were Dutch you would understand, you Belgian. It's like your rivalry with Vash over chocolate."

"Speaking of Turkey," the Belgian said, ignoring him, "look who thinks he's king of the castle."

"Adnan," the Dutch man said, grimacing. "And his new flame. Makes sense he'd come and spoil my day." He walked away, the Belgian wandering over to a stall that sold "Finest Belgian Chocolate". Antonio looked over to see the man they had been discussing. Of course he knew of him. Sadiq Adnan was a powerful, well-known politician, after all.

He only caught a glimpse before a loud sound distracted him. He looked around to see a small Italian man, who was chanting "ve~ ve~ ve~" softly as he pulled along a cart with toys of every description piled on top of it. The children in the crowd picked up the toy-signal and immediately made a beeline for the toy-seller.

"I want a trumpet!" one, with big eyebrows, yelled enthusiastically. "I-I want a…" another stuttered, shivering as he was pulled along. "Ve~ ve~ ve~" the toy-seller smiled at the children. "Ve~"

"Ve~"… Antonio remembered something like that from somewhere…

The toy seller was jostled as important looking guards shoved him out the way of Sadiq Adnan. His cart nearly crashed to the snowy ground, and several of the wooden toys that he had carved so lovingly fell off the cart.

The man's face crumpled as the guards glared at him. "Out of the way," one said. That guard shoved the Italian, who staggered and fell. The children looked, shocked as one of the guard laughed unpleasantly. An abuse of power, if ever there was one. There was something about the man… his currently wet, caramel eyes and that strange curl of hair that stuck straight out - it all seemed familiar somehow - and then, it dawned on him as one of the guards stumbled because of an angry shove.

"Leave my_ fratello_ alone, _bastardi_!" a familiar cry rung around the now quietened crowd.

"Lovino," Sadiq hissed, "don't make a scene." A familiar voice was matched with a familiar face as a man knelt down and dashed away his brother's tears for him. "_Fratello stupido_. Stand up for yourself

"Ve~? _Fratello_~?"

-

Antonio pushed through the crowd and grabbed the back of Gilbert's shirt. Gilbert promptly spilled some of his beer. Cursing, he turned to face Antonio. "What the-"

"Let's go. Now!"

"What? _Nein_, why would- _oh_," he said, noticing the Italians. "Well look who it isn't. After all these months, he turns up out of the blue. Oh, so I take it he's Adnan's new flame. Oh well, don't be upset, you had your turn."

"Who's that?" Arthur asked Francis, twirling a red rose which Francis had bought for him in his fingers.

"That's Antonio's old _amant_, Lovino . Alas, that is no longer the case. He never told us what happened. He now appears to be the _amant _of a far richer, far more powerful - and did I mention richer - man," Francis explained.

"…I said that you should never mention that," Antonio said, face falling, as his "secret" was told to yet another nearly total stranger.

-

Lovino looked over to his _fratello_, sullenly. A different, more important guard, who Lovino had never liked was yelling at the _bastardi_. Ignoring Sadiq, he watched carefully as the German man helped pick up the wet toys. Feliciano smiled cheerfully, good mood restored.

Nothing much else to see there… bored, Lovino's amber gaze drifted around the street. A tall man, who smiled constantly, was followed by two women. His sisters, maybe. One was looking at a stand that sold knives with great interest, the other was picking up reels of thread, examining their quality by pulling at them, apologising profusely when they snapped.

Well, nothing much to see there either. Unless you counted that blond cross-dressing dancer getting into an argument with the knife-obsessed girl, a shivering man trying in vain to stop them. The tall, creepy man smiled and wandered over to where the argument was happening. That couldn't end well.

A man carrying a bouquet of tulips accidentally bumped into him. Lovino scowled at him, and moved away, into the melee of a crowd. Flashes of every colour there could be surrounded him. Interesting smells and sounds floated around as he closed in on a fruit and vegetable stand. And there they were. Those beautiful, juicy red tomatoes. How long had it been since he had seen ones of this hue… this vibrancy…?

He reached out for one, when a hand snatched it away. Lovino growled and turned to his left to yell at the guy…

…and froze.

The man paid for the tomato and walked away, biting into it happily, not noticing that Lovino was standing next to him in his idiotic tomato-fuelled delight.

"Ch-chiiigiiiiiiii!" Lovino screamed in surprise, unable to contain it. Antonio turned and looked at him properly. Lovino! Lovino had seen him! He had thought he was with Sadiq, but he had evidently slipped away. What to do, what to do…

The street fell silent for Lovino once again.

"Lovino? What is it now?"

It was not Antonio who spoke, but Sadiq. Lovino looked up, racking his brain for an excuse for the outburst. "M-My ankle! I've twisted it, dammit! This goddamn shoe - it's too damn tight! Chigi!"

Sadiq looked around for his bodyguards, but they had all melted into the revelry. "Here! Take them to the shoemaker!" Lovino cried desperately, thrusting the innocent shoe at his lover.

Sadiq - surprisingly - obliged. He walked off briskly in the direction of the nearest cobbler. The street, after a few more moments of silence, dispersed into laughter again.

"Oi, Antonio."

How long had it been since they'd last met? Six months? A year? Antonio ignored him completely. Lovino tapped his shoulder impatiently and repeated, "Oi."

No response.

"Antonio! Listen to me_, bastardo_!" The _bastardo_ wandered off. He _wandered off_! No. Lovino was not taking this. He was not…

What the hell?

…was that… singing? It sounded like… Feliciano? Lovino turned and stared at his brother. What on earth? He was singing to that_ figlio d'un cane_ of a German guard. "_Quando me'n vò! Quando me'n vò soletta per la via! La gente sosta e mira_!"

And why the hell would he pick _that _song to sing? It was embarrassing to listen to his fratello blatantly flirt with the unsuspecting other man.

The guard stared too, bemusedly. "_E la bellezza mia tutta ricerca in me, ricerca in me, da capo a pie_…" Veneziano grinned. "And that's Italian opera! Now how do you speak German~? Ve~?" Oh for God's sake. He was making friends with the guard! Honestly.

A strange idea crept into Lovino's head. Antonio was walking off. Drastic measures were called for. His mind was going into red alert - no! No! You can't do this to yourself! Think of your pride! Think of your priiiiiiiiide!

"…_Ed assaporo allor la bramosia_…" Lovino said quietly, continuing the song that his brother had started innocently enough - speaking, obviously. He did have standards.

"_Sottil che da gl'occhi traspira_…" You shall never meet these people again. You shall never meet these people again, he told himself.

"_E dai palesi vezzi intender sa… alle occulte beltà_," Well, they wouldn't speak Italian anyway, so…

"_Cosi l'effluvio del desio tutta m'aggira!_"

Well, Antonio knew Italian anyway. He turned, and looked incredulously as if to say 'Who the hell are you, and what have you done with Lovino? He wouldn't say things like that in a crowded street! He wouldn't say things like that in an empty street!'

"_F-felice mi fa, felice me fa_!" And he was happy. He was getting a reaction, after all. Several metres away, Gilbert elbowed Francis in the stomach.

"Heh. Look who's going to get laaaiiid." Antonio looked back over his shoulder to his friends, who were being no help at all. One wolf-whistled - thank you Gilbert. He looked back at the Italian.

"Lovi…?" Antonio whispered. "What are you…?"

"You're not going again, _bastardo_. I won't let you." Lovino growled at him, pouting adorably.

Antonio's eyes glimmered. "Lovino… I missed you. _Mi tomatito_…"

"Don't call me that, _bastardo_!" Lovino shouted, his characteristic red face appearing as he yelled at Antonio. Antonio's thin-soled boots pressed down on the slush of the ground, his usual clueless smile coming back in full force, like it hadn't for months - which it hadn't. Not since the last time he had seen the bratty younger man.

"Lovino…"

He reached out to Lovino, his gloved hand forming a familiar sign of welcome and decision, fingers outstretched. Lovino, hardly aware of what he was doing, ignored the gesture and nearly head-butted the Spaniard as he crashed into him. "Antonio, _bastardo_!" he said, his voice high and crackly, like a person living without something for years, and finally reclaiming the privilege of seeing it again.

The crowd simpered.

"Yeah." a voice said, triumphant, "Our Ant's getting laid tonight.""Oh crap," muttered Lovino, as he saw the loyal guard spot them, and turn. "We'd better run for it."

The German guard whipped away from Feliciano and started to run towards the pair, but he stopped as he felt a tug on his coat. "Ah…?"

"Let _fratello_ go, _per favore_!" Feliciano pleaded. "_Per favore, signore_! Lovino's only ever really been happy when he's with Antonio! Sadiq makes him sad, even though he won't say anything, I didn't see him in months, and-" he sobbed.

"Ah, calm down!" the guard said, scared that the Italian was going to choke. "I won't. Don't start crying again… I just stopped you." Feliciano smiled widely. "_Grazie signore_!" he said, and hugged the guard, who wasn't entirely sure how to handle the situation.

"Oi, give the bill to Sadiq Adnan," Lovino said to the tomato-seller, arms filled with tomatoes.

"Ah, yes, I will," the tomato seller said. "Good luck, both of you!"

Lovino stalked over to the beer-stall. "Clear the bills, will you?" he asked the stall owner. "Sadiq would be more than willing to."

Gilbert laughed heartily. "I always liked you for some reason!"

The group walked quickly, side by side, laughing. Their feet left imprints in the snow, which grew steadily more and more as they disappeared from the street.

-

**The song they were singing was "Quando me n'vò / Musetta's Waltz". **

**Please Review~**


	3. Act III

The snow of winter had melted, but the bitter cold remained as Arthur staggered down a narrow street. He narrowed his eyes, checking to see if he was at the right place, which he was.

There were a few people loitering outside the door. Arthur walked over to them. They noticed him quickly.

"Is Antonio Carriedo here…?" he asked politely.

They thought for a moment, and then one of the taller ones said that he did work there. "Yeah, he does - the painter guy, yeah? He's doing a mural or something - a field of tomatoes. That's right, Norge?" A smaller man nodded briefly.

Arthur smiled. "That does sound like him…" One of the group - who was wearing a Santa Claus outfit - looked worried as Arthur coughed. He said that they would go and get him for him.

"Thank you… say that Arthur is here…" He coughed again. Damn it… it just wouldn't go away.

-

"Arthur…?" asked Antonio. He hadn't seen the British man for three months, but he did look different. More tired.

"Antonio! I'm glad to see you-" Arthur was cut off by coughing. Antonio aked him what ws wrong, but Arthur waved him away. "It's nothing… nothing… you and Lovino are staying here?"

"Sí! I am painting the wall bright with the tomato fields of my youth! This place needs colour! And Lovino cheats visitors out of their money by playing cards with them," he said, sounding happy. "We get by. And Arthur… why are you here? How's Francis…"

He trailed off as Arthur fidgeted and looked unhappy. "Francis broke up with me."

Antonio, unhappy for Arthur, but not surprised, took Arthur's hand sympathetically. "_Lo siento_, but Francis always was flighty. Did he go off with somebody?"

"No!" Arthur stated emphatically, "That's the problem! He thinks I've gone off with somebody else!" He coughed again.

"Surely you have not-"

"No! I haven't! But even though he flirts with people when we go - went - out, if I ever did he got all pissed off and angry!" said Arthur.

"_Lo siento_, Arthur… what happened?"

"A few days ago… there was a party and I danced with this American man… we were having a good time, but Francis thought it was more than that…" Arthur sniffed.

"But you told him it was nothing more than a dance?" asked Antonio. "Yes, but he didn't believe me. He gets so damn jealous!"

But then Arthur whipped around, and a panicked expression crossed his face. He ran further into the building, where Antonio lost sight of him. "Arthur…?"

"Antonio! At last! Nobody will hear us here!"

The unmistakable French accent called out Antonio's name. Antonio turned to face the man. "Francis."

"I have separated from Arthur," Francis stated, getting straight to the point in a way that was unusual for him.

"You were madly in love with him three months ago. Are you so inconstant?"

"I thought that my heart was dead, when he walked into my life, but now it is tired again." Francis said, poetically. "So, you want to have another funeral for it?" asked Antonio, proud of the comeback.

"_Toujours_!" said Francis, "_toujours_!"

"You're just jealous," Antonio stated, recalling Arthur's tale.

"_Un peu_…" admitted Francis. "But listen to me! He flirts with everyone!"

"And you don't?" said Antonio.

"_Un peu_… but I don't go as far as him! There was a young American… a little idiot, who thinks he knows the world! He makes lovesick eyes at Arthur, and does Arthur respond in kind? _Oui_. When I saw them, Arthur's top was off, and their position was compromising - to say the least!"

"You don't seem sincere to me," said Antonio. And indeed, something rang hollow about Francis' side of the story. Francis slumped to sit on a crate.

"… _Oui_… Antonio, you're right… in vain I hide it from you…" he raised a hand to his face. "_J'aime _Arthur… I love him more that anything there is…" His hand flopped down. "But I'm so afraid, Antonio - so afraid!" He looked down to the floor. "Arthur is so sick, Antonio. Every day he worsens. He is doomed…"

Arthur blanched at this comment. He could hear the conversation perfectly well from where he hid. What did he mean? He wasn't… he wasn't…

"If you have seen him lately, you would tell… his cough… his cheeks are flushed, his eyes glitter…"

Antonio knew perfectly well that Arthur could hear. _Poor Arthur_, he thought.

"My room is a hole, you know it is!" said Francis, "And… the fire… I've used up the fire… it is so cold, the north wind rips through relentlessly… he smiles but remorse attacks me viciously… I am the cause of the disease that is killing him. Our lifestyle is killing him."

Then that dratted cough came back with full force. Francis realised it then - Arthur had heard everything.

"F-Francis…? I'm not…" said Arthur, unconvincingly. Francis swooped over to embrace his crying lover as Lovino stormed in, yelling about something to Antonio, who replied, but the words were lost to the couple.

"_Je suis si desolé_, Arthur." Francis said, holding the shaking Briton as Lovino stormed off, leaving Antonio.

"Stay with me then. A-at least until spring."

"I will…" Francis said. "I promise you, I will… until springtime comes, I will not leave you."


	4. Act IV

**I'm so sorry! Really! I have a confession to make… I honestly thought I had already uploaded this chapter, but I've just realised I haven't. *blushes***

**

* * *

**

**ninja-freak13: I haven't actually seen Rent, though I've been meaning to, so the plot's just based on La Boheme.**

**

* * *

**

The sun was weak, but still there, Francis mused as he gazed out of the window. If only he was in a poetic mood. He could have written something magnificent about sunshine never dying completely. It would lift him out of obscurity. He would be known as the most brilliant poet of his generation. Beautiful men and women would swarm around him, begging for a glance, a touch of him. He would smile, and seduce and captivate hearts with the pattern of his words.

But Arthur was gone, and with him he took Francis' passion for wordplay. He had another now, thought Francis bitterly. Others who he would wait for spring with. So much for his little scene of crying and sobbing. He had left Francis anyway. And bitterness was left in his place.

Oh, that was quite good.

Francis wrote down the line with venom, embellishing it. _Bitterness in place of the passion once beloved. _When he became well-known, he would dedicate the poem this line ended up in to Arthur just to spite him, so all would know how he had broken Francis Bonnefoy's heart.

Actually, no, wait. Then everybody would know that a cold Englishman had left him for an idiotic American. Yes, _that _American man, who Francis had caught Arthur with. A boy of nineteen, thought Francis acidly. To think. Beaten by an unnamed teenager for his love's heart! It was pathetic. He didn't deserve to be a Frenchman.

"_Ay Dios mio, _Francis," said someone. "Even I can tell who you're thinking about with that face. Think of happier things, _por favor_? You're making me sad just looking at you."

And in Arthur's place was none other than Antonio, who had come back to the dingy attic which they had once shared before after having a fight with Lovino. There was really no comparison between the two roommates. One was fun and a friend. One was his lover. Ex-lover.

"When… when is the food coming…" asked Antonio, trying to distract Francis from his depressing thoughts, drooping over his new painting. "Need… food…" Happily for Antonio, the door was flung open.

"The Awesome Me is here!" yelled Gilbert, swinging around a cloth bag, spreading an appetising aroma of food around the small room. Francis looked up, memories forgotten as the smell reminded him of his hunger.

"The food's here!" he said, lunging for the albino.

"Not so fast!" yelled Gilbert again, swinging the bag out of their grabbing reach.

"Food! Food!" said Antonio. "I'm so hungry…" Somehow, he managed to snatch the bag out of Gilbert's hand.

"You did not just do that!" exclaimed Gilbert, who tackled Antonio to the ground. Antonio laughed.

"This calls for a duel!" Francis cried, waving his arms about at the cheap bread and cheese. "The prize, the delicious assortments of finest bread and expensive cheeses! Begin!"

Antonio and Gilbert engaged in the mock swordfight as Gilbird fluttered down to the floor and headed towards the food. "Not the food! Not the-"

"Help me!" came a scream from the door, interrupting the mock-fight. The mood instantly became more serious as the men turned to see Lovino, who was being leant on by… Arthur…?

An Arthur that looked so weak and frail, all malicious thoughts melted away from his jilted lover. "Arthur!" Francis said, shocked by the ragged appearance of his former lover.

"Francis…" said Arthur listlessly.

"Well, don't just stand there, _bastardi_!" Lovino said angrily. "Help him!"

Francis immediately ran over to Arthur. "Arthur! _Mon cher_!"

Arthur smiled weakly, eyes slightly glazed. "Francis," he repeated. "How good to see you… again…"

Gilbert swept an arm over the bed, removing the clutter on it instantly onto the floor. "Put him here," he said seriously, all joke gone from his voice. Francis carried Arthur over, ignoring Arthur's weak protests.

"He left his rich lover," said Lovino brusquely. "An American, I hear. He was on the streets when I found him…" His caramel eyes closed. "…please say he'll be fine…" he murmured, too soft for anyone to hear.

Familiar coughing filled the room. Francis laid his head upon Arthur's chest, eyes closed. "…_Mon amour_…" Arthur's eyes gently closed as well. "_Mon amour_…" repeated Francis.

Lovino gritted his teeth as he watched, his eyes narrow. Arthur's condition was bad… then suddenly his eyes snapped open as a brainwave hit him. He patted down his coat, searching his pockets, snarling softly whenever he thought he had it, but did not. Then finally, he found it.

Slowly, he drew it out of the depths of his coat. It was red in the faint sunlight. Antonio gasped as he saw it. "Lovino…" he said.

"From _Roma _itself…" said Lovino, holding up a beautiful red rosary. "If I said that, it would get a better price…"

Shoving it back in, Lovino stormed to the door. "Lovino! Where are you going?" Antonio demanded to know. "The pawn shop, where else?" said Lovino. "Maybe it'll be enough… to get medicine, at least…"

He didn't dare say it probably would not. "I'm coming with you," said Antonio. Lovino looked up at him for a few moments, and grabbed at his hand, dragging him out.

"Like that'll get much…" said Gilbert. "It might get medicine, but he needs a doctor. That's definitely not enough for a doctor, in this day and age…"

His hand slipped to his neck. "I never thought I'd ever do this…" he said slowly. "But to save a life, ordinary rules are pointless… and awesome is never pointless." A metal cross was visible as he pulled it out from under his clothes.

"…We've been through a lot, but it's time to say goodbye…" he said, stroking it with his pale thin fingers. He let it slip back.

"I'll not be gone for long…" he promised, slipping out after Antonio and Lovino.

"Are they gone…?" whispered Arthur. Francis looked up and straight into Arthur's eyes. "_Oui_…" he answered. "_Oui_, they are gone… were you not asleep?"

"I pretended to be asleep… I wanted to talk to you alone," said Arthur. "I… I suppose now is the time to say that I love you… before I…"

"Arthur… _mon amour_… still as beautiful as a… as a sunrise…"

Arthur laughed. "Even if I was that - which I most decidedly am not - your comparison is wrong."

Francis leaned in closer. "Wrong? What is so wrong about it?"

"A sunset would be more appropriate under the circumstances…" explained Arthur morbidly. He looked down to the floor and laughed. "Do you remember when I came here? When I came here first, as a neighbour?"

"Do I remember? _Oui_! Your candle had gone out! You were upset-" Arthur looked put out at the mere notion that he could be upset, "-then you lost the key…"

"And you began groping around, like the Frenchman you are, to find it," said Arthur, smiling knowingly.

Francis remembered that well. "I searched… and I searched!"

"You found it quite soon."

A-Arthur had known? Francis was astonished. "Merely helping Lady Fortune along," said Francis.

Arthur smiled, and sank back, exhausted, into the hard bed. His face completely relaxed to the point that there was no expression there.  
His eyes closed gently and he breathed out as Lovino flung the door wide open, breathing heavily from exertion.

"We got a doctor between us," said Antonio as Gilbert came in then, and strode by the group to the invalid's bedside.

"What did he say! What did he say, Antonio?" asked Francis, lunging at Antonio from across the room. "He will come…" said Lovino. "Soon…"

"_Dieu merci_!"

Lovino shrank back into the shadows. "D-do you think… it is extremely serious? Antonio?" asked Francis. Antonio opened his mouth to speak, but stopped as Gilbert moved his hand to his face and covered his eyes.

"Antonio," said Gilbert, not wanting to address Francis. "He's dead."

"Arthur!" said Francis, "The doctor's coming soon!"

"Francis…" said Gilbert.

"Soon, Arthur," said Francis, kneeling next to Arthur's still form. "Soon! The doctor-"

"Francis," Antonio said.

"-Is coming so… so… why are you looking at me like that?" asked Francis, looking at his friends wildly. "Why are you looking at me like that…?"

With a trembling hand, he stoked away blond hair from Arthur's forehead. "Arthur…" he said, bitter truth sinking in as no movement occurred as he touched the body.

"Arthur!"

* * *

**Agerevalution: This chapter depresses me, but it is a Hetalia version of La Boheme, so I'm not changing any critical plot points.**

**Thanks for all the reviews over all the chapters. They are all appreciated, believe me :)**

…**Dammit Puccini! Why did you kill Mimi, making me kill Arthur as the character who fitted Mimi best…?**

**Now, please go and read something happy. Please.  
**


End file.
